


Have You Thought About It?

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Cats, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants a cat. Paul wants to think about it. Mild mention of smut and '60s attitudes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You Thought About It?

“I wan’ a cat,” John announced one day, and that was where it began.

“We can’t get a cat, don’t be soft,” Paul said back, and that should’ve been where it ended. In fact, it was, in Paul’s head, where it ended. However, John did not have the little voice in his head that said _enough is enough_. He instead had a huge gaping void, and right now, something in it was meowing.

“C’mon, Paulie,” John whined, and Paul shook his head, turning the page of his book. “At least think about it, yeh?”

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” Paul said absently, and that was the mistake – John now had what he perceived as wiggle room, and he grinned widely. _Oh hell yeah_. He was gonna wiggle.

* * *

“‘ave you thought about it yet, Paulie?”

Paul glanced up from his plate of toast, hair dishevelled, and John grinned widely, clutching his mug of tea. It was 6am. It was probably safe to say that Paul did not yet have the capacity for thought.

“Wha’?” Paul asked weakly, and John shrugged.

“Y’know. You, me… a kitten.” He meowed faintly, and Paul’s brow furrowed.

“…y’wha’?”

“Wouldn’t mornin’s be nicer if we ‘ad a kitten. Or a cat, I’m not fussed, like,” John said, and Paul tried to lay his head flat on the table in exasperation. Instead, he put his face into his breakfast, and John’s laughter pealed around the room, exasperation forgotten.

* * *

“Have yeh thought about it yet?”

Paul looked up from his bass in disbelief, and John grinned, legs awkwardly crossed.

“You on about that cat again, lad?” he asked, in astonishment, and Ringo leaned in.

“Are you two getting a cat?” he asked, wide-eyed, and Paul closed his eyes.

“I like cats,” George said amiably, and took a sip of his cuppa. “So you two seem t’be getting’ domestic, like.” John’s eyes narrowed.

“Are yeh sayin’ summat, Harrison?” he asked, and Paul closed his eyes.

“Well, the two of yehs are _gay_ together,” George said, and Paul nodded, fairly. John bared his teeth in what could either be a grin or a snarl. “Nothin’ wrong with gettin’ cosy an’ all…”

“I think it’s nice,” Ringo commented quietly, and John folded his arms.

“It would be if Paulie’d get me a cat,” he grumbled, and Paul gestured around him to where the equipment was set up for them to record. “Alright, alright, we’ll get on with it… bloody hell…”

* * *

Paul collapsed back onto the mattress, sweat beading his skin, and John fell next to him, red flush speckling his chest and cheeks.

“Ch-christ, Johnny,” Paul panted, and John wrapped an arm around his waist, curling up to the man. “Where’d yeh learn _that_ …?”

“You,” John replied honestly, and nuzzled up close to Paul’s jaw. “So… ‘ave you thought about it, like?”

Paul’s head turned to him so slowly that John was legitimately afraid for a moment his boyfriend had been replaced by some kind of demon, and then Paul threw his hands in the air.

“ _What kind of timing d’yeh call this?!_ ”

“I’d say you owe me one,” John said, and Paul rolled over to face him. His cheeks were flushed red, although whether that was anger or post-orgasmic-blush was unclear, and John smiled disarmingly. This did not disarm Paul. Paul was heavily armed. “…or not.”

“John, for god’s sake, it’s been a day…!” Paul snapped, and John nuzzled back up under his chin. Paul closed his eyes, and then began to stroke his back. “No more of this ‘til tomorrow, yeh? God’s sake. What am I gonna do with yeh…?”

* * *

“Paul!”

“I’m gonna murder yeh, Johnny,” Paul muttered fervently as he stood up, and George stuck his head out of the door as he approached.

There was a noteboard in the studio – Paul honestly could not recall ever glancing at the thing, it was full of schedules and production stuff and things he didn’t tend to bother himself with – but right now it was covered in what appeared to be a ransom note, with the strangest demand.

_HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT GETTING A KITTEN YET PAUL – J_

“Paul, at this point, I’ll buy yeh the damn kitten,” George said flatly, and Paul groaned. “‘ave you thought about this?”

“ _God’s sake, not you too_ ,” Paul snapped, and George shook his head.

“Not tha’, like. What this _means_.” Paul raised an eyebrow. “Well, John… ‘e’s not great at committin’, is he, like?” Paul shrugged, lips pursed, and George smiled a little bit. “But yeh live together. You two.”

“Yeah… guess so…” Paul muttered, flushing. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing this with George, whatever he and John had – he guessed it was a relationship. They lived together, ate together, slept together… they kissed, they… oh god, it really was.

“Yer together, like. An’ that’s fine… it’d be weird, like, if yeh weren’t our mates, but…” It was George’s turn to flush now. “But yeh, yeh live together, an’ now he wants a pet with yeh.”

“I really don’ think he’s puttin’ that much thought into it. It’s John,” Paul muttered, and George patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. “He’s an impulsive bastard. If he wants it, he gets it, no regard to anythin’ else.”

“Yeh might be surprised. I mean… never would’ve pegged ‘im for a fairy, but yeh changed that,” George said evenly, and Paul shrugged. “Just… consider it, lad. Get the bloody stick outta yeh arse…” He froze, and then smirked. “…can I say that?”

“Don’t be grotty, lad,” Paul said, face crackin’ into a smile. “Alright. I’ll _think_ about it.”

* * *

“Paul?”

John opened the door, and cradled the newspaper to his chest.

“I got yeh fish an’ chips, lad,” he called, and stepped inside, kicking his shoes off. “Just vinegar on the chips, the way you like ‘em…”

He stepped into the living room and froze; Paul looked up, and scratched the scrawny ginger kitten behind the ears from where it sat on hisknee on the sofa.

“She’s called Marmalade,” he explained, and John stared at him, eyes wide. “She’s two months old. She was the only one alone at the shelter, like… Her mum abandoned her.” He stroked her gently with a finger. “She just looked at me with those big eyes, like, an’ I couldn’ resist. Bit like you, actually.”

“Paul,” John breathed, and got down on one knee – Paul placed Marmalade down and she mewled croakily, before wobbling over to John. He picked her up gently and cradled her, fish and chips forgotten. “She’s… gorgeous, like.”

“ _You_ , lad, are changin’ the litterbox,” Paul clarified, and John walked over to sit next to him, gently stroking the tiny ginger furball in his hands. “An’ you can feed her in the mornin’.” A kiss was pressed to his cheek, and he blushed. “Soppy get.”


End file.
